Irony
by Purple01Writing
Summary: When I was told to attend Kantou Boarding school, like any good daughter, I went. However, I did not expect to meet so many people...like me. Boarding school AU Many pairings. Shonen ai
1. Arc 1, Act 1

**Disclaimer: I, sadly, do not own Prince of Tennis or Buffy the Vampire Slayer. The OCs that pop up are mine, and the plot is mine, but other than that, I have no ownership. Cry for me, would you?**

**This is a semi-BtVS crossover. The characters, as listed below, will randomly appear in chapters, and I will do my best to explain them for the purpose of the occasion.**

**When something comes along that can't be explained all that well, I will explain it in an Author's Note, but other than that, it will mostly focus on PoT's verse.**

**Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Angel characters (in order of appearance in the story):**

**Rupert Giles Wesley Wyndham-Pryce**

**Buffy Summers Illyria**

**Angel Charles Gunn**

**Spike Lorne**

**Pairings: OT5, Golden Pair, Dirty Pair, Silver Pair, Platinum Pair, and the others will explain themselves because I am simply too lazy to put them all here. Granted, almost all of the characters will be paired up in some form or another, so BE WARNED. **

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"_**Unto every generation there is a Chosen One. She alone will stand against the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness. She is the Slayer."**_**

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**

Chapter 1: Arrivals 

"Welcome," a woman said cheerfully. Her hairstyle was layered to frame her face, and she wore Dior.

I could already tell I would dislike her immensely. I knew that right now in the States, it was morning, and this person was a morning person. Now where had I put my gun?

"My name is Aoi Hanamura," she continued. "I'm the Social Studies teacher." She winked at me, and I had to restrain myself from not running out the door at that moment. "I got to take a peek at your grades, and I can already tell you're going to flourish here." She said conspiratorially, as if we would suddenly end up best buds.

I bit back a snort. As if.

My father brought in the cart that held my heavy luggage, and began to take off the boxes one by one. I had labeled them carefully, and the top box was the one I was already longing to open. He placed them on the floor in front of my closet. While my room was not as large as the one at home, it was still large enough to have my space. My desk and dresser were against one grey wall, and my bed directly across from it. My closet was in the corner, close to the door. The rest of my wall opposite from the door was covered with navy curtains-hmm. I'd have to check that out later.

I also noticed to my relief that I had WiFi connections. That was really important to me-I needed to be able to listen to my ipod and check my email. Even though I considered us to be in the middle of nowhere-really, anything was the middle of nowhere compared to Charleston, South Carolina. Yes, I'm from the South. Yes, I have a Southern accent.

So don't give me crap about it. I love Charleston.

My mother put down the last of my suitcases down on my mattress. "Ms. Hanamura-" I could tell from her tone she disliked this teacher too, but she's too much the Southern Belle to let it known. Only those who know her know her tones. "Is there a reason why Cassandra is being housed in an empty wing?"

That's my name-Cassandra Elizabeth Thompson. Just don't call me Cassie-I'll not only hate you forever, I'll kick your ass from here to Pluto.

For a moment, Ms. Hanamura's too-cheery smile falters. She glances from my parents to me, where I'm leaning against the wall, staring at the (opposite) wall. "Given that many of the students here are male, we feel that it would be best for her honor to keep her living quarters away from the main group of students."

I catch my mother's eye. She can tell I'm about to laugh, and she frowns, though I see her amusement in her green eyes. The boys have nothing to fear from me.

However, the fact that many of the students are male should have tipped me off. I didn't yet realize…

My father, however, while not unaware of my…situation, shall we say, just looked relieved. I suppose he still considers me his little girl.

Hmph.

Ms. Hanamura looked at her wristwatch. It's a Rolex, and I wonder how much they pay the teachers here. I am beginning to suspect she wears this stuff just to surprise and amaze (cough intimidate cough) the people here. I bit back a sarcastic comment, preferring not to tell this teacher that while we come from old money, we are still up-to-date, or at the very least, my mother is on the current trends.

I wonder how this teacher would feel if she looked at my clothes. While I personally hate wearing designer, "Appearances must be kept".

Anyway, the teacher broke up the potentially positive laugh at her expense by suddenly mentioning that dinner is in an hour, and _oh-so-apologetically _told my parents they would have to leave soon. I noticed that my mother tensed, eyes turning icy. I wouldn't be surprised if my eyes mirrored it-I have inherited my mother's looks, and her temper. My father laid a hand on my mother's arm, a signal that says it's fine. Ms. Hanamura leaves so we can say our goodbyes in private, and my parents enfold me in a hug. I am a little shocked at first, because my parents rarely show physical affection for me, but I return it soon enough.

My mother is weeping. I know she didn't want me to go to school so far away, and at the tender age of fourteen, but the scandal back home decided for me. My mother pulls back, once again Mrs. James Thompson, with no tears visible on her pale cheeks. She smoothes back a stray brown lock that stuck to my forehead, and gently kisses my cheek. "Cassandra, call us tonight, please?"

I nod, choking on tears I refuse to let fall. My father pulls me into an awkward embrace, and I feel him trembling as well. In my hand, away from my mother's eyes, he presses an amulet into my hand. It's cool, and convoluted.

I tuck it into my pocket, and I bid goodbye to my parents as they leave, closing the door behind them.

Once they're gone, I let my tears cascade down my face, making my pallid skin red and blotchy. All too soon, my eyes are dry and I'm unpacking the main box. The first thing I pull out is the part of my life I had to leave back in Charleston. I place the blue-glass frame on the desk, where it will receive the most light, and I smile sadly at the photo. From here, their smile is rather forced, but I know it's only because of how I'm looking at it at the current moment.

I drag my clothes over to the closet, and throw them in the small-well, closet. Hanging from the hooks is the school uniform that the school promised my parents they would provide-light blue polos and black pants. Once I'm alone, I can let loose all of my unsaid comments and I snort. I had discovered the uniform after some digging, and I had brought my own clothes. So take that, all ye believers in uniforms!

Suddenly, a bell shrieks, frightening me out of my wits. When I recover enough to think clearly, I suddenly realize that that was the bell calling us to dinner. My poor ears, having to listen to that horrible sound every day. I grab my jacket from the bed, and leave.

Upon entering the dining hall, I froze. I should have realized it. How could my parents not have told me? Unless they didn't know themselves…

I'm attending an all boys' school.

Oh _shit_.

* * *

Somehow, it seems that fainting and falling onto the _cold _floor was not the best way to introduce myself. Especially since I now had several people surrounding me. I did my best not to panic-respect the bubble, people! I blinked-my contacts made a last-ditch attempt to glue my eyes shut, but with persistent blinking the contacts lost. Hah. Take that.

I sat up-the people I now realized were teachers backed up a little. Thank you-I need my breathing room, if it's all right with you?!

"Cassandra, are you all right?" an elderly woman inquired.

Apart from being cold and surrounded by people I've never seen, I'm right as rain! "I'm fine, thank you."

Apparently my words didn't convince them. "You hit your head on the floor," a man with light brown hair continued.

Oh…that's why I have the headache from hell. "I'm fine," I repeated. Once I get my painkillers, anyway.

"Are you quite sure?" the elderly teacher said again.

Other than the fact that I am currently a few degrees colder than Antarctica, I am bloody fine! I nod, trying not to wince as my head begins to resemble a drum.

The light-haired teacher has a gleam in his eyes I'm sure I won't like. "Sumire, no time like the present." The elderly teacher nods, an amused twinkle in her dark eyes. "Ms. Thompson, if you are truly fine, then you would not mind having a musical evaluation."

Shit.

"No, of course not." I say defensively.

"Good." He gets up, striding off down the hall. I get up and follow, absently wondering how I'm going to have a musical test without my music. Maybe he wants me to do sightsinging-I can do that. Cheered by this thought, I follow him.

* * *

I flop down on my bed, completely exhausted. Mr. Sakaki, as it turned out, was the music teacher, qualified by the Royal Conservatory in London. I stared down at my twitching fingers-they hurt from playing the piano for so long. He had me do several octave jumps, and now they ached. My voice was hoarse from singing for so long-man, he's vindictive. I turn and face my desk, where I placed my music books. He put me in the third level of the Royal Conservatory books, and the combination of light beige and purple reflected light into my sore eyes. I was glad that I had taken my contacts out; otherwise they would be twinging now.

I turn away from the book, turning off my light. My last thought before I succumb into total darkness is that I hadn't called my parents tonight…


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Many Meetings

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**

The next morning I woke with a strange sensation for that time of day-I was _starving_. I groaned, and got off the bed. I wondered why I woke up and then realized-I was cold. I hadn't yet made my bed yet. Sighing, I got out of yesterday's clothing, and dressed in sweats and a long-sleeved t-shirt, pulling on an overlarge sweatshirt before I could concede I was warm.

Yawning, I pulled on a pair of thick socks and sneakers. I looked around my room, my stomach telling me in no uncertain terms that it needed to be fed, right _now_. I snorted-I was never one to disobey my poor stomach. _Fine, but you have to wait a bit!_

My stomach grumbled angrily in reply, but calmed down. I glanced around the room, wondering if there was anything I would need, and my eyes fell on the clock.

It was almost 12:00 pm. The evil jet lag struck again. I muffled an angry growl. Jet lag was my worst enemy-it just wasn't _fair _that I could get so tired so easily.

Insert long-suffering sigh here.

I grasped my hard-to-get My Chemical Romance bag and hoisted it out of a box. It held all the books and CDs my parents would never be caught dead listening to, and thought I refused to listen to as well.

Thank _her _influence on me.

I spend some time on a happy daydream before my stomach reminds me of my obligations to it. I grumble in answer, and take out a book out of the bag I love so much. I grin as I suddenly realize that my jacket and bag match-both are My Chem.

Yawning for perhaps the first in a long line, I wander out, looking for the dining hall. Oh yes, right, straight, left, and then right again…

WAIT! Not there…excuse me; I must now go wash my eyes. I do NOT need to see the too-chipper social studies teacher making out with someone. Ah, here's the dining hall!

Thank goodness it's empty…I put my book on a table and place my hands on my crimson cheeks, hiding my face from the world. Once I'm sure I'm composed again (this takes quite a bit), I carefully take them away.

My noisy stomach again reminds me why we're here, and I scowl at it before moving onto the line to see what's available. The cooks are busy, but don't look surprised to see me. I wonder how many students roll in looking as tired as I do. I mutter a thank you and grab a plate of what looks like nothing I've never seen, and when I take a bite, I nearly choke. It has no flavor for the person used to Cajun and Creole food. I shake my head, and pull out a bottle of flavoring my grandfather gave me before I left. Applying it liberally, I take another bite, humming in satisfaction. Now it tastes good.

"Does it taste good? If it was me, I would be choking. Maybe you should talk to Fuji…he likes the Cajun flavoring." The sound of a rich voice layered with amazement and amusement nearly makes my next bite obstruct my breathing passage.

The guy gently slaps my back as I desperately try to regain my air. Once I can speak without wheezing, I whip my head around to see a tall boy with spiky silver-blue hair, looking like he'd like to laugh. "What. The. _Hell?_" I growl out finally.

He smiles at me—but it's a smile that resembles the Cheshire Cat's. "I'm Niou Masaharu, but you can call me Niou." He informs me cheerfully, sliding into a seat next to me. Even sitting, he's, like, _feet _taller than me.

I close my eyes, trying to regain my composure. "Was that completely necessary?"

He cocked his head. "If you mean that it was necessary to scare you out of your wits so you nearly _died, _well, yes."

I glare like an offended cat.

He only laughs. "What's your name, darling?"

"I do not give my name to those who are on my bad side," I say stiffly, going for my grandmother's stuffy, aristocratic, haughty tone. I can apparently _not_ pull it off, because he bursts out laughing.

Damn, his laughter is addicting. I can feel my glare melt, and finally I'm laughing as hard as he is.

When we both calm down, I mutter, "Cassandra Thompson."

"So, dear Cassie, where in the American South are you from?" he inquires, shamelessly stealing my apple.

"Two things—1, don't call me Cassie. 2, how did you know I'm from the South?"

"Your accent gave it away, love," he laughed.

Damn.

"And your choice of food. Not many people I know, with the exception of Fuji of course-he's so addicted to wasabi-are willing to drown perfectly good Salisbury Steak in hot sauce."

I look down at my plate. "Is that what it was supposed to be? I thought it was baked cardboard."

"Don't tell the cooks-they are quite insistent that they are better than anyone else around," Niou warned.

I shrug. "I call them as I see them," I remark carelessly.

"Saa…is that so?" Another boy plunks down across from us. I have to admit, his closed eye smile is a bit creepy, but he looks a lot like Aili, my…friend from back home.

I nod, wondering if he can see it. As I look hard at him, I notice his eyes are open by a crack. Ah…that settles it, and I can settle down again. "Yes." I reply to his query.

Isn't query a great word?

Coming down from my happy food/hot sauce/content plane, I re-examine my plate. "So, you are?"

His smile brightens by a few hundred watts. "Fuji Syuusuke, but just call me Fuji. Everyone else does."

I blink as the light from that oh-so-familiar smile sears my eyes. "Who is this 'everyone'?"

"The students here," he replies as careless as I was a few moments.

I sniff. "I am not 'everyone'."

He giggles. "Obviously. So, tell me, madam Cassandra, why do you flinch when I grin?"

"She's flinching?" Niou asked with surprise. "I haven't seen it."

"Niou, you need to become more observant," Fuji chides. His attention reverts back to me. "Well…?"

My face is suddenly cold, and that means I've paled. I remain silent, and his eyes are beginning to open. When his eyes are completely open, they are some of the most startling blue eyes I have ever seen.

Her eyes.

"You wouldn't happen to know someone named Aili Jennings, would you?" I ask delicately.

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Hai…actually, she's my cousin. You know her?"

"She looks a lot like you," I offer weakly. "She smiles like you do."

His eyes light up in recognition. "_You're _the girlfriend she talks about so much!"

"Hang on…" Niou says slowly. "Cassandra's gay?"

"Lesbian, Sapphoist, whatever term you prefer," I reply, attempting to be nonchalant. I've never been so open about this topic before.

Niou grins. "That's great! It means that the girl who goes to a school full of gay guys won't be wasting her time by crushing on one of us!"

It's my turn to blink. "You're all gay?"

"Well, Hiyoshi isn't, but who cares about him?" Niou informs me. "Yeah, we're all gay. And most of us are together," he adds almost sheepishly as if I'll pass judgment on him.

Right. I'm in no position to judge.

"It's fine," I wave a hand carelessly.

* * *

After some stimulating discussion from the two boys (I had no part in it, I insist), about how they should show me the school so I don't get lost, it is finally agreed that they'll take a look at my schedule and help me find my classrooms.

I have to go back to my room for that, leaving my book on the way, --_Sigh_--. And I was at a good part, too.

So the happy little tour has become to come to an end. I know now how to get lost at my school.

Lovely.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: This fully explains some of the pairings. DO NOT THINK that I will suddenly have a PoT character turn straight with Cass also turning straight, and those two getting together. I have to ask that if you are truly curious, go onto my LJ, where hopefully it will explain everything. If it doesn't, send me a message or something.**

**Note: I AM KEEPING CASS GAY. THERE WILL BE NO HETERO PAIRINGS UNLESS IT IS MORE OF MY OCS. THERE WILL BE NO HETERO PAIRINGS WITH PRINCE OF TENNIS GUYS.**

**Thank you.

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**

Chapter 3: Anger

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_Ah, lovely dreams of warmth and palm trees. Aili's there, and we're drinking champagne. Lying on beach listening to the sound of the waves pounding the shore, light glimmering on the dark blue water._

WAIT! I AM NOW _COLD!_

I force my eyes open enough to see Niou happily grinning down at me. He's holding my covers.

Grrr.

I launch myself at him, going for my still-warm blankets. He stumbled, not prepared for my jump, and loosens his hold on my warmth.

I grab it and hit the ground, securely wrapping it around me. A familiar lethargy surrounds me, the happy feeling I get when I'm warm. "You do not steal the covers," I inform him, clutching said covers around me protectively. "They are untouchable and protected."

He grins-uh oh.

He picks me up and hoists me over his shoulder, kicking open what should have been a locked door.

Niou…once you put me down, you are _so _dead.

I kick at him, but he doesn't notice and strides down the hallway. Suddenly…

"Niou!"

A stoic guy was coming out of his own room, which he apparently shared with a guy who was the proud owner (I could tell because he kept flipping it) of violet-grey hair.

The stoic guy had on a black cap, but it didn't detract from his overall intimidating aura.

I shut up and quit moving.

Niou had no such compulsions. "Fukubuchou," he greeted.

'Fukubuchou' frowned at him. "Why do you have Thompson over your shoulder?"

"Because he's evil," I filled in helpfully.

The guy with grey hair turned aside to smother a laugh.

"She refused to get up this morning," Niou told him, ignoring me _once again_.

"He got into my locked room," I disagreed. "And he stole my covers."

No reaction from 'Fukubuchou'. I feel ignored.

"Niou, perhaps you should put her down?" a gentle voice says softly. We all turn to see a soft-looking boy with purple wavy hair coming out of his room.

"O-of course, Buchou," Niou stutters.

I slide to the floor in a heap of blankets and flannel pajamas. Gathering the shreds of my dignity, I march out of that wing to get changed into my hated uniform.

_A few minutes later……_

Aha! Sweet warmth, sweet sweet warmth. I snuggle deeper into my oversized jacket, feeling much better, more human.

When I open my door, Niou is waiting.

I huff and walk past him.

He settles next to me, walking with an easy, almost loping style. I had the sudden mental picture of me in a medieval-style gown, Niou the hunting dog walking beside me.

I smother a giggle. I must not break, must not break, must not break…

"Still angry, huh?" he chuckled.

"What on earth possessed you to get into my locked room this morning?" I demanded.

He held up a handful of metal files. "I pick locks."

Blink.

Blink.

Blink again for good measure.

"So, it's your first day of school!" he said cheerfully.

He gets a strange look from me. "No, it isn't."

He deflates slightly. "Well, your first day _here_."

"Fine," I concede as we enter to the dining hall-my first true look at how many students are here.

There aren't many. Maybe 100 is a little too far, and for the first time I understand what kind of strings my parents had to pull to get me to go here.

When I email them tonight, I would have to thank them for their efforts.

Niou grabbed my arm, effectively tearing me out of my musings, and ragging me over to a table where the two guys from the hallway before, 'Fukubuchou' and that grey-haired guy, along with Fuji are sitting with a couple of others.

3 boys with glasses; a short young boy; and a small redhead. The young boy is sitting between Fuji and Grey-Haired Guy. Young Guy is leaning against Fuji, lightly dozing, while Grey-Haired Guy has an arm wrapped around Young Boy's Waist.

Small Redhead is sitting between 2 of the Glasses Guys. One has dark blue hair that's falling in layers around his face; the other has brown hair that is shorter, but his bangs almost perfectly frame his glasses.

#3 Glasses Guy is sitting between Blue Hair and Fukubuchou. He has dark purple hair-I am really beginning to wonder if these strange hair colors are natural-and he turns to look at us as Niou drags me across the room.

Niou greets him in…I think it's Japanese-don't hold me to that-and the guy replies with an interesting look in his eyes. It's a look that shines in my parents eyes when my father returns from a business visit-and as I look around the table to see that same look in everyone else's eyes as they look at their respective partners.

Or, in the case of the five-Fukubuchou, Grey-Haired Guy's, Little Kid's, Fuji's, and Brown-Hair-With-Glasses-their respective people-involved-in-a-relationship.

Love.

Ah, what a fickle thing. They all feel such love for each other. I try not to think of what my pastor would say if he knew about this. Then again, he didn't know I was gay either. Thank goodness, or his lectures on how "the homosexual disease is infecting the rest of the population" would have made me the featured star.

I sit down next to Blue-Hair, wishing for a round of introductions so I can quit calling them these stupid names.

Somehow, Fuji knows this. –_Shudder--_. He obviously has Aili's perception as well.

"Cassandra, dear, you're looking lost. Perhaps they should introduce themselves."

"Gee, ya think?" I drawl.

Little Kid focuses on me. "Where are you from?"

"Charleston," I respond after the initial shock is gone.

He grins, much to the surprise of the people around. This was apparently not a normal occurrence.

Great.

"I'm from Amherst," he told me.

I shuddered. "It's gets cold up there."

"Southerners," he grumbled. "Anything below 60 degrees Fahrenheit is freezing to them."

I refrained from replying, mostly because it's true.

"Anyway, I'm Echizen Ryoma," he continued. "I guess you already know Syuusuke and Niou-" here the guy received a glare, which Niou merely chuckled at. "His boyfriend's Yagyuu Hiroshi ;" the purple-haired guy with glasses gave a wave. "You're sitting next to OshitariYuushi, and his boyfriend-the redhead-Mukahi Gakuto." He gestured to Glasses Guy with Brown Hair, "This is Tezuka Kunimitsu."

Okay. Really stern glare.

What have I done wrong??

"Don't worry, he's like that with everyone," Niou stage-whispered.

A crimson blush spreads over my face as Fukubuchou says as calmly as if he was ordering something to eat at a restaurant, "Niou, 50 laps at practice today."

Niou shut up.

Thank _God_.

"This is Monkey King," Ryoma-I called everyone by their last names in my mind, but this kid was simply too adorable to do that-gestured to Grey-haired-Guy. It was my turn to swallow giggles as he hissed like an offended cat at the smirking boy-child. "My name is Atobe Keigo, bratling. NOT Monkey King."

I blink, trying to remember something. My parents had spoken of a really, really wealthy Japanese business family…something about introducing my older sister to them when she was old enough? I squint, trying to work out the name.

I gave up. It's probably going to come to me at 2 in the morning.

"And the last but not least is Sanada Genichirou," Ryoma's voice tears me out of my headache-inducing musings. Ah, so this is the name of Fukubuchou.

I nod to the table in general. "I suppose Fuji has already given it way-terrible thing to do, in my opinion-but my name is Cassandra Thompson."

"Should we call you Cassie?" Oshitari inquires lightly.

"No." I say as politely as I can manage.

"Let's call her Cass!" Niou exclaims.

Oh no. Oh no. This cannot be happening. There has to be some other nickname…Sandra? Please?

Too late…all who care are nodding agreement.

Shit.

* * *

Apparently, throwing canned tomatoes at a classmate was not the best approach to starting your first school day.

Though right now, I can see Mrs. Ryuzaki trying not to laugh as she informs Niou that he shouldn't influence the new students and that I shouldn't let him.

I put my head down and tried to look penitent. Though the sight of the crimson juice from the tomatoes dripping through his hair is almost enough to make me lose it-can't forget the injured expression either. Teehee.

"You have both been assigned detention tomorrow night in the stables. Mr. Gregor will assign you work to do, and you must obey him like you would obey as teacher, understood?"

Niou and I both nod.

"Now, go clean up, both of you."

Oh yes, did I mention? After I tossed the tomatoes-by accident of course-to Niou, he "accidentally" poured milk all over my hair. I retaliated with oatmeal all over his uniform, and his last, parting shot before the teachers broke it up was jam all over my own uniform.

We depart the office, and Niou casually drapes an arm around me. I do my best not to shrug it off-I don't like people touching me.

"Should be fun, huh, sweetheart?" he teases.

I glare at him, but somehow having jam on your shirt and face for some strange reason seems to detract from that intimidating persona. "Why do I get the feeling you spend a lot of time in there?"

"Mainly 'cause I do."

I press my lips together to fight the giggles that bubbled up. "I now understand what Mrs. Ryuzaki meant by you not being a bad influence on me."

"Too late, isn't it?" he quipped. "Come on, it's time for biology."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: An Assingment  
**

The first couple of weeks I spend readjusting to the strange schedule. I have 5 periods a day, and the two scheduled days are switched from A to B every other day. There are two classes I have both days, Japanese (language) and Acting. I'm one of the few students in Musical Theatre, being joined by Atobe and Ryoma.

By now, I have been told gently from a teacher that the reason why I am taking Japanese is to catch me up with the other students, who are all Japanese themselves.

It occurred to me that I probably should have realized that myself, but it's a bit too late for that.

On my first weekend, Mrs. Ryuzaki took me aside and informed me that all the students were required to play a sport, despite a decent percentage in dance. It turned out all the boys liked tennis—something that surprised me, coming from the States where football and basketball were predominantly featured—so there weren't any other sports available.

So, my first weekend into town was spent buying a girl's version of not only my dorm house tennis uniform but the school uniform as well.

That also meant I had to buy a racquet and sweatbands.

Note my joy.

I really wished that someone had told me before that time-so much for Niou being my "sponsor".

Of course, my first few weeks were spent learning the rules and main movements of the game. Once I actually started to play, it was the most embarrassing highlight of my day.

It's like my mind knows what to do, but my body refuses to comply. I now have a bruise that is permanent on the top of my head from all my missed serves.

I think my cheeks are permanently stained red.

On another topic, my subjects aren't all that bad. At first, Japanese just seemed like a pile of gibberish, but as I applied myself and had the people around me speak it, I have gradually begun to be able to speak it in a simple conversation, much to the people around me amusement.

Strangely, though, it seems familiar. Like I knew it in another place and time. If I believed in reincarnation, I would say that I knew it in a different life, but since I don't, I don't really know how a complicated language could seem so familiar to me, and I might as well say I learned it in a different life for all the memories I have.

My favorite class so far will have to be either European literature with Mnsr. Enjorlas or Human Geography with Ms. Glover.

At first, Mnsr. Enjorlas seems quiet and demure, but when he begins to talk, he has a player's voice, rich and mesmerizing. Many a time I have been late to dinner because I stayed to listen to his tales.

He has assigned us to do a creative writing assignment. The only point of it is to get us to not make clear who is the protagonist and who is the antagonist. I hate these types of stories, because I like to make clear who is the good guy and who is the bad guy.

Unlike Edgar Allen Poe, who disguises the antagonist as the protagonist until the very end. (Cough _The Cask of Amontillado _cough).

Wait…_The Cask of Amontillado_…

I opened up a Word file on my laptop, and started to type, lost in the world of printed letters.

* * *

I sighed in relief as I walked back to my seat. I just handed in my writing assignment, and when Mnsr. Enjorlas saw the length; he gave me a smile of approval.

I hadn't intended it to be so long…it just happened! I swear!

Of course, then Mnsr. Enjorlas _had_ to commit the coup de grace for all of us poor students. He decided to read them out loud so we could all debate about the positions of the protagonists versus the antagonist.

We heard a rather good account of a tailor versus a rich man. Apparently, the rich man had ordered a robe from the tailor done with the tailor's finest cloth. However, because the tailor was poor, he only had cotton and other homespun. So he took his finest materials that he had (which were few) and made the rich man's robe. However, when the rich man came back and found a robe made of homespun and not silk, he threw a fit and had the tailor jailed for fraud.

We heard a not-so-good story that seemed to be a Biblical parable rewritten. The one about the denarii, and the men who all earned one, no matter how long others had worked or how short.

The next one Mnsr. Enjorlas seemed to have particular joy to pick out from the pile. He smirked at the class, adjusted his glasses, and began to read.

_"On a warm June night, the moon shone innocuously from her pedestal above the earth, seemingly unaware the events that would take place that night._

_In a dark room, high above the cobbles of the street, it was empty and alone. It seemed to be waiting, though for what was anyone's guess_."

I slunk down in my seat. Damnit, this can't be happening. He's reading _my _story.

"_In the bottom floors of the same house, it was a riot of color and music, of silks and satins, full of talk and laughter, such a contrast to the empty rooms above. It was a party meant to celebrate the owners' of the house announcement of an engagement taking place between their oldest daughter and a man who had recently begun school for his Ph.D. in pathology._

_Above the party, 2 others, who did not like parties as a rule, met in the cold, dark rooms above, that were so perfect for assignations. Down below, the orchestra truck up a tango, and the two who knew that dance suddenly came together, dancing with each other in a way they could never dance with each other in public._

_The tango is a dance of passion and fire, and these two had it perfect in a way that is rarely seen. It is said that the best dancers are those who are lovers, and the way these two danced that conclusion was impossible not to reach._

_Once the music was over, the two found a chair, where they began to exchange touches and kisses. They could not do this in the world below these rooms. Theirs' was truly a tale of forbidden love, but it was not even that they were from two different castes or belonged to feuding families._

_No, it was the fact that they were two girls who preferred each other to the world below the stairs._

_Often, the more adventurous of the two would talk about once becoming of age, abandoning this shallow world of money and politics and striking out on their own, refusing to conform to those who had other expectations of them. The less adventurous of the two would giggle and listen in rapt attention, loving the idea, but knowing she would never be able to do so without the other. She had no courage to go by herself. She needed her lover next to her._

_In the world below the stairs, a boy who was a friend to the less adventurous one fidgeted. His mother, a proud, controlling woman, had finally browbeaten him into agreeing to court his friend, something that struck anguish in his heart. He loved someone else, if it was possible to think of love at fourteen._

_His mother imperiously had ordered him to find his friend so that they could dance, a sign of the impending courtship, but he could not find her anywhere. Since they had been friends as younger children, he knew her dislike of loud, chaotic scenes, and so he headed to the world above the stairs to look for her._

_The two girls had become so wrapped up in themselves, the more adventurous making the less adventurous laugh with her plans of escape, and how they had begun to save money so they wouldn't be penniless when they did leave. In between kisses, both joked with each other, teasing and lighthearted._

_The boy who belonged to the world below the stairs turned on the harsh overhead light of the library, his friend's favorite haunt, bringing the world below stairs to world above it. To his astonishment, he found his friend kissing another girl, the daughter of a distinguished man who was currently in Iraq, and apparently not knowing what his daughter was playing at._

_His friend extracted herself of the pretzel they had managed to squeeze themselves into, and held out a hand. "Jon…what are you doing here?"_

_A blind rage began to fill him. That she would act so innocent when she was committing a sin against God, and against him for not telling him! He stalked towards her, his rage present on her face, making her shrink back and take back her hand. "I could ask you the same thing," he snarled. "You are here…kissing another girl! How disgusting."_

_Hurt flashed in her eyes. "Jon, I love her. Like you love Cecilia."_

"_You can't possibly love her," he growled. At the sight of that statement making her stand up straight, a sign of her infamous stubbornness taking hold, he lost his control over his terrible anger. He whipped out his right hand and backhanded her viciously. She fell, putting a hand to the cheek that was screaming in pain._

_Her friend picked her up off the ground, and cradled his friend's head against her chest. She glared at him, anger present. He turned on his heel, and stalked off, rage radiating off of him in waves._

_When he reached his mother in the world below stairs, he said clearly enough to garner attention, "I cannot court the one who you would have me to do so because she loves other women."_

_With that statement, he guaranteed her societal damnation."_

Mnsr. Enjorlas finished reading, and around me, my classmates came out of the trance that was a by-product of his reading voice.

"That was really good, nya!" Eiji said in surprise.

I relaxed my clenched fists under the desk. Mnsr. Enjorlas laughed, and glanced at me. "Yes, Kikumaru, it is, isn't it?"

More agreement sounded.

"So who is the protagonist?" the teacher asked.

Many answers greeted him. The less adventurous one, the more adventurous one, the boy. However, Tezuka raised his hand. "It's both girls, because they are the ones to defy society by simply being together, and furthering it by planning on escaping. They didn't associate themselves with the world below stairs, preferring their own."

"Very astute, Tezuka. I also think so. Now who is the antagonist?"

Many said the boy, because he couldn't control his temper and belonged to the belief that is seen so often about homosexuality.

I felt eyes on me, and looked up to meet Fuji's open-eyed gaze. We locked eyes, and he said to the teacher without removing his stair from me, "The mother."

"The mother?" Oshitari replied, frowning.

"Yes. If she hadn't browbeaten the son into courting someone he didn't love, he would never have discovered his friend's 'world above the stairs'. She wanted to be in control of what went on, and in doing so, helped contribute indirectly to the girl's societal damnation." Fuji continued. In a voice barely above a murmur, he added, "Isn't that right, Cassandra?"

Everyone looked at me. I shrugged. "I like it's the boy because he slapped her. He didn't have to do that. He could have kept better control over his temper, and didn't have to go all out. Actually, the reason why his friend might not have told him was because she knew he would react that way. But he was being a stupid boy, and didn't realize that at the time."

"Do you really blame him?" Fuji reposted, his eyes _amused_, like this was all a game to him. "After all, he just saw his childhood friend essentially making out with another girl. Do you think he should have held onto his reason, when she hadn't even hinted at that before."

"She might have, and him being the blockhead he was, might not have realized what she was hinting at," I was beginning to lose my temper, but before I could, I slammed a lid on my growing agitation. "She had, and he obviously had to see it to believe it. But there are other ways to get your revenge or confrontation, and he didn't have to tell his mother, a notorious gossip, and ensured it that way. He should have waited until they were alone to get her to explain it. After all, if they were _friends_," my emphasis on friends had many raising their eyebrows. "He should have cared more for that, and waited for the simple sake of the friendship they might have had. He obviously didn't, and in doing so, hurt her badly for the cause of his revenge. He should have served compassion, not vengeance."

As Fuji opened his mouth to continue, Mnsr. Enjorlas broke in. "All right, all right. Continue this at a later date, both of you. The bell will be ringing soon."

Then it did.

As I packed up my notebook and pens, Fuji came over. "It's true, isn't it?"

"What?" I played dumb, hoping for him to get the hint.

"The story. It's true, isn't it?"

"Parts of it," I said uncomfortably.

Fuji opened his eyes, and gazed at me.

"Most of it," I amended.

He continued.

"Mostly all of it," I hissed finally. "Can we go to dinner? I'm starving, and it's cold in here."

He chuckled, and offered me his arm. "It would honor me if you took my arm."

"I'm still ticked at you. Don't count on it."

* * *

This was the edited version. The original was rather boring. 


End file.
